


I Know

by avxry



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: John Loves Sherlock, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, Sherlock Loves John, john goes off to war, they want to kiss but they can't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:39:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2117079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avxry/pseuds/avxry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is leaving to go to war, and Sherlock knows what neither of them can say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Know

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know of any typos, and I appreciate your read! Thank you!

John stands in front of Sherlock, who stands in front of the train tracks. John's eyes are watery, Sherlock's are hard, but the state of their eyes doesn't matter much right now.

John is leaving for the army in approximately four-minutes-32-seconds and Sherlock couldn't hate the man any more than he did right then. How dare he leave and go somewhere that could get him killed? How dare he follow through with his plan to go to the army and leave Sherlock behind, how dare he how dare he how dare he?

"Last chance," Sherlock says, his voice gravelly and deep and quiet and personal. "We can just go back home."

"Sherlock," John sighs, looking at his feet, his single bag beside them. "You know I can't do that, I've told you--"

"I know."

Sherlock sounds resigned. There is no use in arguing, he knows, but he simply cannot let John think he is okay with him running off like this.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock," John whispers. Their eyes meet, Jolly-Rancher-blue and stormy-grey. Sherlock is positive that he looks completely passive except to John. His hands are in his charcoal-colored coat pockets and he stands stock-still, much taller than John.

_John._

John, who is carefree and happy and cheerful and funny and beautiful. Sherlock is not stupid, by any means. War, however inane it is, changes people, will change John, his John.

"I know." He is being repetitive, he hates repeating himself, but he can't help it because John is still here and he can't quite fathom what it will be like when he is not still here and his mind is already recreating events to make up for ones that they won't have and it's terrifying, John is terrifying and wonderful and he can't leave.

"You can't leave," he says, and they have had this argument before and it obviously changed nothing because they are still standing here waiting for the train with approximately three-minutes-46-seconds until it arrives.

"I have to."

"I need you."

"Sherlock--"

"I know," he says again because he refuses to let John leave with a storm over his head.

And Sherlock suddenly really wants to kiss the man in front of him, his best friend, the only person truly worth all of his time. He really wants to taste the black coffee that John had this morning and his hot cinnamon flavored toothpaste and his new brand of aftershave that he thinks makes him smell more like an army man but really it just smells musky but Sherlock didn't have the heart to tell him that (he didn't think he had a heart at all, until John). He really wants to feel the rough fabric of his thick coat and the softness of his hair at the nape of his neck and the curve of his back and the flatness of his chest (which Sherlock has seen and he doesn't find much attractive and quite frankly, it scared him that he found this attractive but really, it was John, what else was he to expect?).

He almost surges forward an crashes their lips together in the way he had, embarrassingly, dreamed about recently, but he can't, he just can't bring himself to do it, because then John would have to be gone and he probably couldn't live with just one kiss, no matter how great it would be. He would have to find something to take his mind off it (he had heard something about cocaine being a great thing for that, but he mustn't mention that to John, it's very-not-good, he knows).

And he looks at John, who looks back at him, and this isn't a look they've shared before and they've shared many looks. Sherlock sees in John's eyes exactly what is playing through his own brain. Neither one of them would be emotionally prepared to separate if anything happened between them.

So they let nothing happen. They say farewells. They grant one long-lasting, warm hug that says so much more than it ought to have the right to say, and then the train is there.

Sherlock doesn't say it.

( _I_ )

John doesn't say it.

( _love_ )

It doesn't need to be said.

( _you_ )

And then he is gone.

John is on that blasted train, on his way to somewhere far away from everything that mattered (Sherlock).

Those three words that didn't-need-to-be-said-needed-to-be-said roll around Sherlock's mind, his tongue, but he would only be saying it to empty air now, and he doesn't love the air, he actually quite hates breathing, tedious (except when there is a John to keep him wanting to be alive).

Those three words that are never said roll around Sherlock's brain. John is gone, but still he whispers, "I know."

And he is being repetitive, he hates repeating himself, but he can't help it because John is not here and it doesn't quite feel as if anything has really happened yet and his mind is already recreating events to make up for ones he knows they won't have and it's terrifying, John is terrifying and wonderful and he can't leave.

But he has.

And Sherlock knows.

( _I love you, John Watson. Come home._ )


End file.
